Long list. “Quite a few big houses went up during that time frame—here’s an entire luxury housing project in Colorado … animal research lab—that one was high school kids who got stopped early.” Wheeling away from the screen. “It’s all over the country, Alex, but if there’s a pattern, I’m not seeing it. And if Backer was a pro, you’d think something remotely incendiary would show up in his apartment. But the bomb dogs found zilch. Meaning (a) Backer was an architect, nothing more; (b) He did like playing with fire but put off buying his equipment until shortly before the gig; or (c) He kept a storage locker full of combustible goodies. And please don’t remind me about none of the above.”

Sean Binchy rang in from Lancaster. “Hey, Loot, those two thieving brothers are alibied clean for Borodi. Though, if you ask me, they’re still up to no good, there was a truck without tags in their driveway, they definitely didn’t want me looking at it closely. What next?”

“Go home.”

“Just forget about the truck?”

“Notify the locals and call it a day. Regards to your wife.”

“Absolutely,” said Binchy. “I’m sure she sends them back.”

Milo said, “Can’t you just see me explaining this to the brass: revenge by sutma interruptus. Assuming there ever was a murdered Swedish girl. Assuming someone cared enough about her to burn down the house. Assuming Backer and Fredd were involved and dallied around before trying to blow the place up and got offed before they could follow through.”

I said, “If there was a Swedish girl and someone cared enough to avenge her, they might’ve also contacted the Swedish consulate about her being missing.”

He looked up the local number, had a civilized chat with a man named Lars Gustafson, who had no personal knowledge of any Swedish citizen in jeopardy two to three years ago but promised to check.

Milo phoned Moe Reed. “Find that Indonesian girl?”

“Just about to call you, Loo. I was there when they closed up but she wasn’t at work today. Hope talking to me didn’t spook her because I didn’t get a name or an address. Stupid, huh? I was trying to keep her mellow.”

“Judgment call, Moe, don’t get an ulcer.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow before they open up. Need anything else?”

“Go home.”

“Sure, there’s nothing I can do?”

“Get some sleep in case there is, Moses.”

He hung up, sighing.

I said, “What a good dad.”

Grumbling, he logged onto an online yellow pages, searched for storage facilities in L.A. County. A minority refused to divulge client information but most were surprisingly cooperative.